First Strike

We brought Psiny to the town of Magatan, under Gerashim’s rule.

"Master..."

Risha gripped the hem of my coat tight.

I get it.

Magatan was bad in a different way than Beesk.

Beesk was destroyed—ripped apart by monsters, by that scorpion.

This Magatan wasn’t destroyed. It was just... fading. Slowly. From neglect. From poverty.

The few townsfolk we saw as we entered looked barely clothed. Buildings sagged, cracked, rotting.

"Like Magdway’s early days,"

I thought the same.

Magdway—name of the first man I met when I came to this world. Lived alone in the middle of nowhere.

Every single resident of Magatan was just as ruined as that man.

"You came!"

Gerashim hurried over, small steps, quick.

Joy was written all over her face, impossible to hide.

“Ah, you brought food.”

“Thank you… so much!”

“Just so you know, it’s not good. Just fills your belly.”

“Still, thank you! Can I hand it out to everyone right away?”

“Do whatever you like. Agafon, help them out.”

“Got it.”

Agafon, who had come from the town of Biisk, distributed the pshiny to the residents of Magatan.

People gathered. Ate what was given.

They smiled, eating something that only filled their bellies.

“…Should I do something about it?”

Muttering, I turned toward the town.

Risha and Mira approached me together.

“Let’s rebuild the houses.”

“Let’s make lots of clothes.”

They disagreed. But both were right.

“Sorry, master…”

“Sorry….”

The two of them bowed their heads, guilt-stricken over having different opinions.

I gently patted both their heads at once, smiling.

"Alright, I’ll be laying down magic circles one after another. You two can handle that much work, right?"

"―Yes!"

"Understood!"

They beamed, and a small charge of magic power flowed into DORECA.

I followed through on my promise, drawing magic circles without pause.

First, I applied restoration circles to the crumbling houses and buildings. Then I asked the townspeople how many lived here, and made magic circles for twice that number of clothes.

Food, shelter, clothing—every essential step for starting fresh in a new town, done carefully, one by one.

☆

"Thank you… I don’t even know how to properly thank you…"

Gerasim bowed deeply to me.

Beside him, the townsfolk were still bustling about.

Now that they knew their bellies could be filled, and that gathering materials could instantly rebuild homes or make new clothes, everyone had finally started moving.

"I’ll make weapons later. To be honest, the only time you’ll actually enjoy eating that Pshiny is right now. Once you’re back to normal life, it’ll taste awful. If you’re barely scraping by, just go hunt or do something yourself."

"Yes, of course! Thank you so much, Akito-san—thanks to you, this town is finally…!"

Gerasim’s eyes welled up. Being thanked wasn’t unpleasant, but getting teary-eyed thanks from a man? That was a little weird.

He’d done what he came to do. No need to make things even more awkward. Time to leave.

"Ah, what’s this, now?"

A voice, even more unsettling, drifted in from the town’s entrance.

Looking up, he saw a muscle-bound bald man riding a bipedal horse, strutting in with several subordinates trailing behind, acting like he owned the place.

He gripped a steel whip in one hand, cracking it sharply against the air.

"Getting kind of fancy, aren't we? Didn't you say last time there was nothing left to show off?"

Spoke with a sickly sweet tone, like a flamboyant thug with too much muscle and not enough hair.

He stood before Gerasim, glaring hard.

"What's this, then? What's going on?"

"Lord Markovich... no, this is—"

"Hey, Agafon, who the hell is that?"

Whispered under his breath, as if the man couldn’t hear.

"Markovich. One of Marat’s top lieutenants—the strongest man alive. They say his strength can split mountains, and his speed outpaces sound."

Agafon answered with a face full of fear.

So, another one of Marat’s dogs, huh.

Markovich scanned the crowd.

The townsfolk noticed too, pausing in their work, gathering at a distance, watching the scene unfold with quiet tension.

"Whatever. How you folks keep the town clean? Ain't my concern. What matters is people living well, right?"

"Ah, thank you—"

"Bu-t."

Markovich cut off Gerassim mid-sentence.

"Clean town? That means it’s worth something."

"Huh?"

"Meaning, protection fees go up. Don’t you see?"

"...That..."

Gerassim’s face crumpled. The despair rippled through the other townsfolk.

They’d just tasted the joy of better living—then had it snatched away by the crushing weight of higher fees for the same peace.

"Next time, double what you paid before."

"Double?! We can’t afford that!"

"Fine."

"Bu-but..."

Gerassim sank deeper into hopelessness.

...Can’t watch this.

"Hey, faggot."

"Ah-ah-ah?"

I stepped forward. Markovich turned toward me, voice sharp as a blade.

“Why, isn’t this a fine man. What’s your name?”

Now it was a purr. Every hair on my body stood on end.

“I fixed this town.”

“Oh?”

Markovich’s eyes shifted.

This time, not with mockery—but with calculation. Assessing.

Didn’t bother me much.

“What’s your name?”

“Akito.”

“Ah. So. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“What I’m doing?”

I thought. Looked at the townsfolk around me.

After getting this deep into it… leaving them behind felt wrong.

Besides. That was the plan all along—expand the town, rise to king one day.

So.

“I’m claiming this Magatan. And the one next to it—Beisk. I’m taking them.”

“What—?!”

Markovich glared.

“You… really know what you’re saying?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re saying that knowing how terrifying Lord Marat is, aren’t you?”

“……”

“Yeah. Good. It’s not something I can do anything about, so I’ll just bring you back to Lord Marat.”

Markovich turned his horse around and rode back the way he came.

For now, that’s that—

“Nah, just kidding!”

Markovich spun around in an instant! Still mounted, he swung his steel whip straight at us.

The whip arced through the air, slicing the wind.

“Hah!”

I drew the Eternal Slave Mod and deflected it.

“Mira!”

“Got it!”

We touched the blue gem at the same time—Mira was pulled in.

I swept upward with the reverse cut—just as Markovich’s right arm flew into the sky.

“Wha—”

Markovich stared, stunned—then I cut his head clean off with another backswing.

Seeing their leader go down, the troops scattered like spiderlings from a broken web.

“Ooooh!”

“That Marcovitch…”

“Holy hell!”

A roar went up from the townsfolk.

They swarmed toward me, praising my strength.

I didn’t care.

Second time now—just like with Beesque.

“Risha, come with me.”

“Yes!”

“Mira, stay here for now.”

(Understood.)

With the two slaves in tow, I bolted from the town.

Chasing after Marcovitch’s fleeing men.

Heading straight for where Maralt was.

I’d already cut down two of his men. If I didn’t go to him first, someone else would die. That’s what I felt, deep down.